Long Personae Poems
Long Personae Poems. Below are the most popular long Personae by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Personae poems by poem length and keyword.
You’re a writer? I am too. My brother is. My father is. We all write.
I am asked to critique, but I refuse, for I am not a critic or an influencer.
My muse Trixie yells things - kick them, run away, hit them in the head.
She is much more daring than I and cares not for social cues.
When I write something politically outrageous, I blame Trixie.
She loves the attention – twirling with happiness at the acclaim.
My show-off, extraverted personae; I am the one who slinks away.
Drawing cartoons about you, to appease my other selves.
I write ten to thirty poems a day; this may not sound like much.
But I had this as my goal three years ago, and I have met it.
I am constantly writing around my job, you cannot ask people though.
They do not know. They think I am typing important stuff for work.
I am throwing poems and stories onto clean crisp white pages.
I stop everything I am doing when humans come in with spying eyes.
I do not tell anyone I am a writer; okay, maybe two people know.
The rest of them would just say “I’m a writer too” so I keep mum.
Pauline’s perfume personified poise and passion, a sliver.
In the quay of life, it was quaint, but it made one quiver.
Parading through life enticing quite a few quails,
Querying within but most suitors attempts were fails.
Pauline had the upper hand for sure, in every kind of way.
Her quiet, soft, personae was sedate almost every day.
Pauline’s platinum personality put us all in a quandary.
Did we pay penance, genuflect or just admire her that way?
I was not sure, so I stayed in my corner, under lock and key.
For this amorous scent would have been the quick undoing of me!
Poetry Contest: Mind Your P's and Q's
Sponsor: Michelle Faulkner
Written 2/28/2021
I have to say yes or no?
What happened to me?
Nowadays seemed like we've been wondering
All the stages of efficacy and not
Not to think I been like this
Changes...
Let me hear your wide adornment
Your deep thoughts
For my life so adamant
Twas you've never come back
Oh why? Why I been like this?
The moon could not tell
It's either fate nor how the way I sailed
From forth
But I hear you whispering
Of all those things
But I have to say yes?
It's enough that we've been collided once
I did all of my efforts just to be the...
Nicest
Prettiest
Loveliest
Bravest
More than you'll know
It was the same era of living
Now changes happens
And it was never like what I've done before
We're like the script of dramatis and personae
All angles of stages and play
Somewhere like we're died in there.
Dramatis Personae
Adam: A Man – First to come, Last to know
Eve: A Woman – Innocent Temptation, Supple Adamant, Persistent Inconsistency
The Serpent: Being in and of the Human Condition, The Serpent appears, as is his wont, at our want and always in appropriate guise
Act 0, Scene –III : The Mind of Everyman
There lurks within the recesses of the human psyche the price we pay for the Gift of Awareness – Doubt. Before Doubt lies – The Serpent (an artifact of awareness) – shifting, undulating, appealing and repulsive, guarding Doubt, concealing, yet by its very presence … confirming Doubt’s existence.
THE SERPENT
Fundamental - Primal - Want
Slipping, Sliding, Slow, Savant
Turning back upon Himself
Insinuating with His stealth
His vulgar touch
His sensuous feel
His warm embrace
His dark appeal
The innate joy with which He takes
The innocence of one mistake
And when He’s done
You’re all alone
The warmth is gone
You’re on your own
You look around … but then you find
The Serpent’s there
Inside your mind
Kristel had some old scores to settle for good or for better
She had tried the violin with no significant results other
Than a crystalline chandelier shattering quite frequently
When she raised the bow after too shrieking concertos
In search of achievement performance and other’s acclaim
It reminded her of Oscar in Grass’ tin drum in which the
Protagonist refused to grow but sang at the top of his voice
Maybe she had to be arrested in silence and mute retreat
Instead she had to beat the drum and attack the membranes
Of a different instrument banging from the crest of her soul
She thought to herself to be rather good at it until the neighbours
Asked for an injunction for when the message failed to appease
A tambourine then and she became major but for minor disruption
But she longed for a more central part in her own drama and flow
And would not stay further backstage before and after the curtain
A faded tapestry it turned out to be when her inside kept aching
A silent walk on or a mime in the shadows of subtle diversion but
She sought more than a hobby or discharge of darkness in her quest
Wanted to be heard and not only seen when the narrator upstaged her
Out of nowhere crisp corals of her lonely tune come into rhythm
When Kristel chorded her vocal crescendo free from constraint
She found her voice struck all octaves and blossomed sotto voce
At first it was not apparent where harmony came from and whether
Cadences pretended to cover up discord or claimed syntheses’ mask
Yet when she abandoned personae she soon accorded music and peace
11th February 2019
Labyrinthia P. Babineaux …………… The White Witch of the Lower 9th Ward
Papa Babineaux …………………………… The Father, an honest apothecary
Algebra Babineaux ……………………… The even-tempered Mother
Bumblebee Babineaux ………………… The precocious younger Sister
Gnat Babineaux …………………………… The curious little Brother
Cabernet Babineaux …………………… The distant Cousin
Ulysses “Zully” Kowolski ……………… The world-weary Sailorman
Nikita Something ………………………… The learned Creole Seer
Mitchell Hollywood ………………………. The adulterous Inn Keeper
Tom Sickley …………………………………… The disingenuous Feather Merchant
Fr. Marcus Paternoster ……………...... The lecherous Clergyman
Steve Merkin ………………………………… The unscrupulous Accountant
Vince Fettish ………………………………… The nefarious Fantasy Man
Xerxes the Great …………………………… The Emperor of Persia and Media
Dante Foolhardy …………………………... The Stultifying Court Jester
John Travailleur, Esq. …………………… Just another John
Plus … townspeople, pirates, Indians, street musicians and beggars, Cajuns, swamp rats, women, young ladies, and girls.
_______________________
Let from anywhere a poem begin,
If only voice comes only from within.
___________________________
She makes more than half of what’s home,
Her personae confined to dome,
Still, she has from here-to-there roam!
The man in her life, called her groom
To let bud unto flower bloom,
Can’t spare her even a small room.
Even today she needs support,
Identity, anchoring port,
Yet, where's enough space for her fort?
Should she bury her lifelong dream,
Walk the way shown with a face grim,
Or paint her own life, rise like cream?
She can make common look like rare,
Make haven of a home so bare
What only she can as ever.
In her love there’s intensity,
In her friendship, intimacy,
In all she does rare ecstasy.
For one, a rare creator’s she,
Creation, creativity,
Rolled into one place all the three.
She fights battles, not for winning,
To keep her home alive, humming,
Without her the home is nothing.
She’s not all of body and blood,
A throbbing heart ever in flood,
A flower that still remains bud.
What’s she? A thought or just a thing?
An epic, one never ending,
One that gets writ whilst unfolding.
______________________________
Tercet | 04.03.2026 | dream, epic, home, women
Note: For Women’s Day (8th March)
Life is inherently difficult. It is its cornerstone
Awakened, striving to tie up all wear and tears
Respect you've given, the kindness you've shown
Will still offer me vigor and be my exulting gear?
Awakened, striving to tie up all wear and tears
To be truly human, fully conscious, and awake
Will still offer me vigor and be my exulting gear?
Feud grew fray, brother with brother, and no spake.
To be truly human, fully conscious, and awake
Oblivious to what Dramatis personae uttered;
Feud grew fray, brother with brother, and no spake
Will be thrown out of the nest in a steady world?
Oblivious to what Dramatis personae uttered;
Must live each time, as if it were at the beginning
Will be thrown out of the nest in a steady world?
Facing life head-on lessens our ought-clinging.
Must live each time, as if it were at the beginning
Respect you've given, the kindness you've shown
Facing life head-on lessens our ought-clinging
Life is inherently difficult. It is its cornerstone.
Written: December 08, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 22 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney